


my heart is on the house

by AnnaofAza



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Lesbian Disaster Adora (She-Ra), Meddling Scorpia, tales from customer services included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25345264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: The slip reads: QUAD ESPRESSO: 30 shots, 18 pumps white mocha.Good Christ.Or, in which they meet over a truly ridiculous amount of caffeine.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 291





	my heart is on the house

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CruelisnotMason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/gifts).



Catra wants to state this for the record: This job isn’t her first choice.

Her manager finds nothing to do but pop out of the shadows at random times and pick apart every little thing she does. Her coworkers are either playing with the machines during rush hour or giving free coffees or pastries on the house to random customers. The customers themselves are rude, incompetent, or both; Catra once spent over almost an hour explaining to a senile old woman that there was no such thing as a “Halloween drink.” (It turned out to be a pumpkin spice latte, a drink that was posted all over the windows and counterspace.)

The money is decent (though) and she has (miraculously) not been fired for “attitude,” so she’s staying put.

But she doesn’t like it.

And she _especially_ does not like serving sororities and frats. They come in screaming about team spirit; giggling about their latest parties, thinly disguised as car washes and bake sales; and trying to flirt their way into free drinks (and, does she double down on charging them for add-ons).

The worst is the mess of Greek letters that the campus dubbed “The Princess Alliance.” Catra knows the leaders on sight, and how could she not? The bubblegum-pink hair and purple booty shorts, with the always-exposed stomach (even when it snows)—didn’t crop tops die in the nineties?

They’re the campus do-gooders, doing actual honest to God volunteering, not the occasional trash pickup the frats. Knitting for cancer, visiting old people, giving lunch bags to the homeless… it’s a feel-good festival every day.

But this time, there’s someone new with the illustrious leaders: a Chihuahua-level of nervous energy and a swinging blonde ponytail.

Catra stares. She’s never seen a Princess Alliance member look so…normal. Or not smiling. It’s like a unicorn—or a Chupacabra…those are cooler, anyway.

“Hey, can you fill the venti cup with espresso?”

Blinking, Catra stares at the girl who’s trudged up to the counter like awaiting her execution. “Uh,” she manages.

The blonde girl waves her hand in front of her face. “Can you fill that—” she points to one of the paper cups stacked along the counter. “With espresso? If you can’t, that’s fine—I’m not that person who—I mean, you all work hard and I don’t want to make life harder for you—hahaha, customers…am I right?”

“No,” Catra agrees, then at the look at the girl’s face, backtracks: “I mean, no, I can do it, not like, no, the customers don’t suck. In general. Not you.”

_Shut up, Catra._

She stares at the register. She only has a button for the quad espresso; there’s no function for 20 ounces of espresso in one drink, but she can jab it a bunch of times, probably press the “add shots” option.

Normally, this is the part where she throws up her hands and says, _Come up with an easier order, cupcake._

But she doesn’t. This is the same Catra who almost threw someone out who asked for thirty packets of Splenda for their iced tea—because of this cute _(erghh)_ and caffeine-obsessed girl.

“It’ll take a while for all that,” Catra warns pre-emptively as she punches it in, mostly to avoid a customer shit-fit—though she doesn’t think it’ll come from this girl.

“That’s okay,” the girl says determinedly. “I need it.”

Catra takes another look at her—to make sure she’s not bullshitting, of course. “Right. Can I have your name?”

“Adora,” she says, handing over a scattered wad of cash.

Catra fumbles with the bills, almost dropping them onto the floor, but manages to pick up a cup and scribble her name in unusually flowing script. “All right. Uh, coming up, Adora.”

Adora flashes her a grateful smile, and Catra—to her horror—finds herself returning it.

Rogelio blinks helplessly when he takes the slip slapped to the glass. “Are you sure—”

 _“Yes,”_ Catra hisses. “Get it done perfectly, or you’re scrubbing the entire walk-in fridge.”

Luckily, her coworker isn’t stupid—the highest compliment Catra has to offer. In a decent amount of time, Adora’s order is ready with a shout over the fizzling of espresso machines and head-crunching roar of blenders.

Adora gratefully snatches up her drink, waving to Catra—who pretends she’s wiping down the counter—and strolls off with the Princess Alliance groupies.

And in less than ten seconds, she’s back, setting her cup down on the counter.

“Something wrong?” Catra asks, shooting a vicious glare at Rogelio, who starts backing into the kitchen.

“No!” Adora blurts out. “Sorry, I forgot—”

With a wide, nervous grin, she dumps a handful of bills into the tip jar, rushes out—and rushes back in to grab her drink again.

* * *

Adora pops in the next day, but Catra doesn’t see her; she’s restocking the shelves again.

But Scorpia _just_ decided to take her break right during rush—normally she’s way nicer than this—so Catra has to be the one to step in to oversee orders. Joy.

On her way to the register, Kyle hands her the slip with a nervous tremor.

This is nothing new. Kyle’s afraid of his own shadow—but this time, Catra almost shakes herself.

The slip reads: QUAD ESPRESSO: 30 shots, 18 pumps white mocha.

Good Christ.

“Kyle…” Catra says warningly.

Kyle gulps. “It’s not a mistake! I asked her like, five times, and she kept saying that was it!”

Catra sighs. “I don’t believe you. And really, Kyle? You forget to take their name? How stupid— _excuse me, who has the quad espresso??”_

A familiar face steps up to the counter. “That’s me.”

“I just—uh.” Catra’s stuttering because she’s under intense pressure. And because of Kyle’s stupidity. That’s why. “Is this order accurate?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adora says sheepishly. “Another busy, busy day! I mean, sleep—who needs it, right?”

Catra laughs. “Uh, right. Uh. Busy with your Princess Alliance…thing?” She tries her best not to sneer around the name, as is her long-time habit, but barely succeeds.

Luckily, Adora doesn’t seem to notice. “That, and judo practice. And labs. And all-nighters. Triple ma- _jor_ , you know. All that good stuff.”

“God, how are you still alive?” Catra says, then, “Judo practice, huh? Cool. Haven’t, uh, seen you around, though.”

“You do it, too? I guess we overlap. I usually do mornings.”

Not for the first time, Catra curses her work schedule. “Guess we do.” She notices Kyle staring, complete with his mouth open, and thrusts the slip at him. “You heard her—the order’s right! Get to it!”

Kyle fumbles, drops the slip, and hits his head on the way up.

Catra doesn’t notice. “So,” she says, definitely not leaning over the counter like some jock in their baggy jersey. “You sound busy.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s ridiculous. But I’d rather be busy than just sitting around all day.” Adora shrugs.

“I feel that,” Catra says. _I feel that? Really? That’s something I’ve never said in my life._ “Uh…” Kyle’s still pumping behind her. “So…”

“So,” Adora echoes.

They stare at each other, and Adora looks away, cheeks bright red.

Catra clears her throat. “So. Judo. I was wondering—”

“Order’s ready!” Kyle suddenly shouts.

Catra closes her eyes and counts to ten and wishes carpal tunnel on him—during finals.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Catra marches down to her supervisor’s office and is ready to demand a schedule change, get fired for insubordination or whatever, she doesn’t care, she’s been through worse—

Only to see Scorpia cheerfully chatting on the phone about vegetarian options for the lunch menu.

There’s a window open—there was a _window_? _—_ with tiny cacti in pots circled around the desk, and posters with kittens and bright neon bubble letters that spell out _Hang in there!_ and _Today is a great day!_ And there’s _music_ playing gently in the background, interspersed with nature sounds of birds chirping and brook babbling.

“…What?” Catra starts. “Did…?”

Scorpia waves at her before hanging up the phone. “Oh, she’s gone,” she says casually.

Catra stares. “Like…gone-gone?” (A part of her thinks, _I hope I don’t have to attend the funeral.)_

“Nope! Fired. Turns out she was skimming off the top of profits.” Scorpia shrugs. “So, I was next in line. Do you like the plants? It was my girlfriend’s idea.”

“They’re…nice,” Catra says. (They do look nice.) “I…I really wasn’t paying attention, huh?”

Scorpia only wiggles her eyebrows. “You can say that. What can I do you for?”

“My schedule,” Catra blurts out. “I want to change it. To, uh, afternoon or evening. Either one. Just not morning.”

“That’s easy to do!” Scorpia says cheerfully, scraping a mess of papers off her keyboard. “Let’s see…moving around Lonnie, maybe Entrapta—and you’re all set! I’ll send you an update.”

Catra blinks. That was easier than she thought. She had expected to at least sacrifice her firstborn. “Great. Uh, thanks.”

“No problem! Enjoy judo practice!”

It’s until Catra has collapsed into bed that she realizes she’s never told Scorpia on why she’s changed her plans.

* * *

At the unholy hour of seven AM, Catra walks into the gym, bag slung casually over her shoulder as she scans the room—because she’s searching for an empty training room or treadmill. She’s gone for her black tank top and cranberry gym tights that make her legs look long—because she needs to do laundry. And she doesn’t have her headphones in—because she— 

“Catra!”

Across the floor, on the mats, Adora’s waving at her, a wide grin splitting her face. In one hand, she has a weight that looks thicker than her Shakespeare anthology, and her hair’s pulled up in her usual ponytail, swinging over her loose white tank, already slightly soaked in sweat.

Catra lifts her hand and waves, feeling stupid as soon her hand goes up, immediately dropping it to her side. “Hey, Adora.”

Adora grins, wipes her forehead. “Hey, Catra!” She rushes up, arms outstretched—then quickly pulls back, dropping the weight onto the mat with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, my schedule changed, so here I am,” Catra says. She feigns a casual look at the mostly-empty room. “Weight training?”

“Sort of. I wanted to spar with Glimmer, but she forgot she had an exam to study for,” Adora says.

Catra can’t imagine Ms. Pink Do-Gooder throwing punches—maybe annoying an attacker into going away. Or throwing a glitter bomb in their eyes. “I know a few things,” she finds herself saying. “If you can take it.”

Adora grins, moving into a fighting stance. “You’re on.”

* * *

She’s _good._ Catra considers herself pretty well-trained, considering the awards she has under her belt, but Adora gives her a run for her money; maybe this Glimmer is actually a decent sparring partner.

Adora’s stronger than she looks, graceful and dual, a fierce look on her face so at odds with her bubbly personality. She wants to _win,_ and that spark of ambition makes Catra fight harder, sweat pouring down her back as she neatly flips neat out of the way of another kick.

“Do you compete?” she asks in between punches.

“Not really,” Adora replies breathlessly. “Too busy. But I used to—” She dodges a punch. “Since I was a kid. Now’s it’s to—” Another punch. “Keep loose.”

Catra then lunges at her with all her strength, knocking Adora full-force onto the mat. Adora lets out an _oof_ as she lands on her back, with an adorably frustrated huff when Catra braces her arms above her head, pinning them down.

Adora struggles, panting heavily, face red, and Catra realizes how close they are—breaths mingling, muscles tense as a bowstring, her own bangs tickling Adora’s face. “Yield?” she asks, a whisper of a taunt.

A slow smirk draws across Adora’s face. “Nah,” she says, and throws Catra off of her.

She barely manages to land on her feet, just as Adora comes at her, ponytail in disarray and grinning wildly beneath the fluorescent lights. Her eyes dance with energy, crackling like fireworks, as Catra blocks a flurry of blows. Again, Catra thinks, Adora’s ridiculously strong, and her forearms are getting sore—there’ll be some nasty bruises later in the day. She’s focused and swiping and steady down to her stance—firm, grounded stance, almost rigid—and Catra grins.

She sweeps her leg, knocking Adora off balance, then snaps her hand forward, grabbing the front of Adora’s shirt and pulling her closer. Adora’s eyes are wider, big and blue and _something_ lingering beneath the surface. 

“Yield,” Catra almost whispers, panting, raising a fist above her head.

Adora’s chest heaves, and her hand comes up to grip Catra’s wrist, squeezing once—“I yield.”

Catra lowers her fist and pulls Adora up, ducking her head when Adora lets her go. “Good fight.”

“I’m better with a staff,” Adora says, almost embarrassed.

Catra’s eyebrows raise, impressed. _Weapons_. _Nice._ “If that was you not at your best, you must be incredible.” _Shut up._ “I mean, uh, cool. Not bad.”

“Not too bad yourself,” Adora says, lips quirking. “You should join the campus martial arts club.”

“I don’t really do that team stuff,” Catra says archly, then says when Adora’s face falls, “I mean, you’re cool, but…I’m not good with people. I almost judo-flipped a customer the other day.”

“I’m sure they deserved it,” Adora says encouragingly. “But hey, if you’re going to judo-flip people, might as well do it in a safe-ish environment, right?”

Catra shrugs. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Adora says, then reaches for her bag on the floor and pulls out her phone. “Number?”

“Number?”

“So I can contact you about the club,” Adora says, “and uh, for sparring. If you want.”

 _I want,_ Catra thinks. “Sure,” she says as casually as she can, and reaches out a hand.

* * *

Adora comes in every day now.

Sometimes her order varies: blonde espresso instead of regular, pumps of caramel or sprinkles of chocolate, an occasional nitro cold brew as a “side.”

But one element always remains the same: an insane amount of shots.

This is going to kill Adora. She’s going to have a heart attack in the middle of studying someday. How long has she not slept? Why does she need this? Does she also take pills? Is this better than pills? Is this okay? Should she stop serving Adora these…concoctions? Is her ass on the line if a customer collapses in the store? What should she do? What can she do?

She can’t say anything in the store, lest she get fired for chasing a customer away—or worse, sent to HR training.

So that’s why—Catra tells herself—she keeps an eye out for Adora.

It’s sort of easier than she expects, considering the campus is massive. But Adora is _everywhere;_ it’s ridiculous. She has a triple major, plays varsity sports, and belongs to almost every organization on campus, including the Geology Club, which has only three members, not even enough to have a full board. Catra doesn’t even know what she’s studying—probably she’s one of those _I want to be a doctor/lawyer/astronaut/veterinarian_ people.

Adora rows. Wrestles. Studies pre-law. Goes to those international peace whatever summits. Volunteers in the community gardens. Has extra labs in chemistry. Jogs. Rides horseback—both Western and English. Speaks another language, something that keeps her in the university archives. Organizes protests. Paints banners (badly). No wonder she needs all that caffeine.

And she has to be _pretty_ , too—with her swinging blonde ponytail and poof and wide blue eyes—

“You fucking idiot,” Catra mutters to herself.

She doesn’t need anyone. She’s never needed anyone. She’s never even _liked_ anyone, and maybe that means something wrong with her. Or Adora’s different—different from the apathetic social workers or irritated teachers or shouting coaches or sneering peers.

She can’t put her finger on it. Adora’s not irritatingly friendly or a show-off do-gooder; she’s just _nice._ Genuinely nice, with no blackmail or favor or price attached.

This disturbs her so much that she takes her employee lunch without paying for it—which she’s tried to stop doing ever since Scorpia became her manager—and spills the extra-sticky salted caramel sauce all over the floor.

As she mops up, sweating and cursing, her phone vibrates. 

_Adora: see you tomorrow_ _😉_

Catra takes a deep breath, and scrubs harder.

* * *

She arrives at the fight club with two minutes to spare, trying not to flush when Adora beams and waves her over. “Catra! You came!”

“My shift got moved,” Catra says, wondering why Scorpia had rearranged her schedule _again._ “Uh, how’s this work?”

Adora gestures to the front of the room, where two women are holding hands and looking as if they might burst into song any minute. “They decide on a theme for the day, then we do warm-ups, sparring, you name it. Super informal—you don’t even have to be here every week.”

Catra nods, as everyone starts moving to the front of the room. “Sounds good.”

“We partner up too,” Adora says, then her voice gets softer. “Uh, I was wondering if—”

“Adora! Hi!” Glimmer pops in between them and grabs Catra by the arm. “Just going to steal her for drills.”

Adora looks startled, but Glimmer drags her away before she can say anything, Catra doing her best to dig her feet in and make it as difficult for her as possible. “What do you want?” she asks irritably.

Glimmer glares at her, crossing her arms. “Adora says you beat her the other day.”

Someone barks out a command, and they both shift to a stretch. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Look. Adora likes you for whatever reason. And if you’re just fucking around…”

Catra’s not sure what she’s more surprised at: the fact that Pink Princess just cursed or that she’s giving Catra an actual shovel talk. “What? You’re going to murder me with an axe?”

“Blunt garden shears,” Glimmer says sweetly, stretching an arm across her chest. “I don’t want it to be quick.”

Catra pauses, then raises her eyebrows. “Fair,” she says.

" _And_ I'll speak to your manager." 

That actually gets a laugh out of her. "Also fair." 

Glimmer smirks. “Good. Now let’s see if you’re really as good as Adora says…”

* * *

It’s when she’s brewing a cappuccino that it comes to a head.

“Uh,” someone says, “I don’t think this is mine?”

Catra rolls her eyes before turning around. “Well, don’t bother me; I just make the drinks…oh.”

Adora stands before her, holding her cup out with an uncertain glance. It looks good enough to her, smelling of enough caffeine to knock an elephant over…except for the foamy heart floating in the middle.

“Uh…” Catra says. She does not remember doing that at all. “That…” Her gaze drifts down to the cup, where a series of X’s and O’s are written in black Sharpie, surrounded by hearts with wings that were obviously added to Adora’s name. “That I definitely did not do.”

Adora’s eyes lower. “Oh. Uh. Then…”

“I can remake it,” Catra says, grimacing at the utter stupidity of her coworkers. “No problem.”

For some reason, that seems to deflate her. “Oh. Okay. Sure.”

Catra grabs the cup and turns to one of the machines—and shrieks when she bangs into someone, spilling coffee everywhere. “Scorpia! What the hell!”

“Did Adora like the coffee?” Scorpia asks eagerly. 

“No, it’s the wrong order; _someone_ —” It doesn’t take long for her to put two and two together. “Did you…were you…?”

Scorpia grins, while Entrapta, behind her, winks like she’s got a twitch. Turning around the kitchen, she sees Kyle hiding behind the cash register and Lonnie whistling while she sweeps.

Slowly, Catra turns around again, empty cup still in her hand, heart beating fast—but somehow, she feels strangely calm.

“You know what,” she says to Adora, who’s hanging awkwardly at the counter. “Since I spilled your drink, let me offer you a free pastry on the house.”

Adora’s head jolts up. “I…”

“And uh, lunch. On me.” Catra breaks in, then just as quickly—“Just don’t order any more coffee. Please. I don’t think your heart can take it.”

“I don’t think it can take you,” Adora replies, then flushes dark red. “I mean. Uh. Yeah, no. As in no coffee. But yes to lunch. If that’s what you were saying?”

Catra grins at her. “My break ends in ten.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the gym, I picture them wearing this getup: https://twitter.com/onlyou718/status/1281123597965078528?s=19. ;)


End file.
